


Foot In The Door

by astolat



Series: POI works [27]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: 2x14-One Percent, Community: Meme of Interest, Kink Meme, M/M, OTP+1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John finally lost his temper all the way, halfway through the flight home, and shoved him down on the bed in the back of his private jet, the main feeling Logan had was an intense sense of triumph.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foot In The Door

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [В дверь с ноги](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058555) by [Isei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isei/pseuds/Isei)



> Inspired by the [meme of interest prompt](http://meme-of-interest.dreamwidth.org/1507.html?thread=349923#cmt349923): (Logan Pierce/John) Pierce is reckless and arrogant and smug; there's no love there, but there's lust and a play for dominance - that Pierce ends up on the bottom of, and loving it.

When John finally lost his temper all the way, halfway through the flight home, and shoved him down on the bed in the back of his private jet, the main feeling Logan had was an intense sense of triumph: he'd  _won_ , he'd  _gotten to him_. The sex was almost an afterthought -- a fucking fantastic afterthought, but Logan wasn't moaning like a whore just because John had a nice cock and knew what to do with it. Victory was the real high, and Logan luxuriated in his. 

That feeling lasted right up until the GPS signal from the transmitter died abruptly not an hour after he'd given John the watch. He had a couple of guys on John at the time, with live cameras, on John and his highly mysterious and well-dressed friend, and John had just handed over a two million dollar watch and let his pal smash it to pieces without so much as blinking. Mr. Bespoke collected his dog shortly afterwards, and the three of them lost his private detectives in less than ten blocks. 

The watch showed up on the market a couple of months later, repaired, and Logan chased it down eagerly: but it was being sold by an old guy who met his questions blankly and said he'd found it busted in a pawnshop for eighty-seven bucks and had fixed it up himself. He stared even more blankly at the pictures Logan showed him and shook his head. Logan wanted to believe the guy was selling him a line of bullshit, but if so, it was extremely good bullshit. 

John still hadn't called, hadn't texted, hadn't emailed. Logan was feeling a little hurt. Finally he staked out every dog run in the city for two more months until one of his people called to report that Mr. Mysterious and his dog had shown up at the Museum of Natural History, and he jumped in a cab and got there before they'd left. John was nowhere in sight, but the other guy was sitting on a bench watching the dog race around the park. He didn't bat an eye when Logan sat down next to him. "Long time no see," Logan said. 

"Mr. Pierce, it's bad enough that you choose to put yourself at risk by pursuing us," the man said. "Handing photographs of myself and my friend to dozens of private investigators and putting them out on the street is considerably worse. Please stop." 

Logan didn't bat an eye either, although it was something of an effort. "What would you give to have me stop?" 

"A warning, which I've already done," the man said dryly. "If necessary, I'll take further steps." 

"Huh," Logan said. "What would those further steps be?"

"You're quite wealthy, Mr. Pierce," the man said. "But your money is young and still largely tied up in stock options, and you've gotten yourself into substantial debt on the strength of it. If your primary line of credit were called, you would be forced to wipe out most of your other assets and severely curtail your discretionary spending." 

"You think you can get the Geschellschaft to call my line of credit?" Logan said, amused, until the man gave him a completely flat stare. 

"As I said, Mr. Pierce. If necessary." 

Logan narrowed his eyes. He was about 85% sure it had to be a bluff, or at least that he could find some way out of the hole, but arguing the point wasn't going to get him anywhere: this wasn't the partner he wanted to be dancing with. "You know, I don't think it's unreasonable of me to want a little closure," he said in wheedling tones. "It didn't occur to me at the time that John was the love 'em and leave 'em type." 

The guy jerked around and gave him another look, astonished this time. Logan gave him a sunny smile full of teeth, privately satisfied: no, Mr. Bespoke hadn't struck him as the kind of boss John would share his sex life with. There was abruptly a growl in front of him; Logan jumped and looked at the dog, which was standing right in front of him with bared teeth, ears sharply forward. 

"Hey boy," Logan said, offering a hand. The dog's lips peeled back a little further and it growled again. "Af, Bear," the man said absently, and then reached for his leash. The dog didn't take its eyes off Logan while the man clipped it on and stood. 

"I'm afraid you'll have to endure your heartbreak, Mr. Pierce," he said. "Please remember what I've said." He inclined himself slightly and tugged; the dog gave Logan one last snarling look for goodbye as they left. 

But Logan figured that John would respond to the provocation, and he was delighted to see the motorcycle parked at the far end of the basketball court, a week later. He cut his game short and jogged down towards it. John took off his helmet. Logan beamed at him and rolled onto his toes and down again, feeling gleeful and effervescent. "Hope I didn't mess up your working relationship," he said cheerfully. 

"You didn't," John said, and there was a low, smoky note in his voice. 

Logan dropped flat to his heels and stared at him. "No, really?" 

John gave him a heavy-lidded, satisfied smile, then leaned in and said softly, "Really. And Logan? The next time you put anyone on his tail, he won't have to take steps. Because I'll get there first." 

"Hey, seems to me you should be thanking me," Logan said, peevishly. 

"Thank you," John said. "Now don't do it again." 

"Yeah, yeah," Logan said, waving a hand, turning away. "Come on, seriously, though," he wheeled back; John paused with the helmet halfway up. "Is it the job? I could put together a great job, John."

"He didn't give me a job," John said. "He gave me a purpose. And you haven't got one to give." 

That stung just a little. Logan's eyes narrowed: John was wearing an earpiece, and the connection LED was lit up green. He leaned in. "Yeah, but I was better, though, right?" he said. "Please, you got a hell of a charge shoving me down on my face. Don't tell me he'll even let you do that." 

John's mouth quirked. "No," he said. "I let  _him_." 

Logan scowled: he could just imagine Bespoke back in his lair somewhere listening in and enjoying that -- enjoying _John_ , bending him gently down over a desk, John spreading himself wide open for it-- "Fine," he said sulkily, backing up as John slid on the helmet. "Go live happily ever after, whatever. And text me back once in a while or I'll keep staking out your dog!" he yelled abruptly, as the motorcycle pulled away from the curb, a new plan already forming in his head: nothing in the world wrong with a threesome, and after all, he'd proven he was pretty good at getting to them _both_. 


End file.
